The mirror before me reflected a face I hadn't seen in years—young, unscarred, and filled with a life I had long since discarded. My hands trembled as I touched my face, tracing features that should have been aged by war, vengeance, and regret. But they weren't. My body was whole, my muscles less hardened, not like I was happy about this particular fact, and my scars—the reminders of battles fought and lost—were missing.
What's happening?
I survived?
How?
The questions clawed at my mind, sending my heart into a rapid frenzy. My surroundings were familiar yet distant, like a dream I had long forgotten. The dimly lit chamber, the scent of old parchment and polished wood, the bed I once called my own—it was all here. Yet, I knew, deep in my bones, that none of this should exist.
"Young master! You should get ready now"
The soft yet firm voice of Gouya echoed in the room again. I turned sharply, my breath hitching in my throat. "Gouya." my voice shaking and eyes watering.
She stood there, amber eyes filled with relief and frustration. I wanted to say something, to confirm that she was real, but my throat felt dry, my words refusing to form. She should be dead… And yet, here she was, alive, breathing, standing before me as if nothing had changed.
"This doesn't make any sense," I muttered, my voice hoarse with disbelief.
"There you go again, young master, making a fuss because you don't want to see your mother. However you might feel about the Matriarch, it doesn't change the fact that she is the head of this family and must perform her duties ." Her lips curled into a slight frown, yet her eyes remained gentle. She stepped forward, lifting me off my feet in one swell swoop. Only then did I realize that this isn't a dream; it's reality. The relief I thought I didn't need brought tears streaking down my cheeks, something I hadn't felt in years.
"Young master, are you hurt?" she asked, showing genuine surprise at the fact I cried because I was carried.
I shook my head, unable to process the warmth in her expression. This had to be an illusion—a trick of the mind conjured to comfort me in my final moments. I died. I know I did. I had accepted my end, standing atop a mountain of corpses, both human and beast, a fitting conclusion for one who had walked the path of vengeance.
My lips curled into a bitter smile. So this is how the mind copes with death?
Then, without warning—
SMACK!
Pain shot through me as a hard slap landed on my backside. My eyes widened as reality snapped into place, the sharp sting banishing any illusion of the afterlife. Gouya stood before me, hands on her hips, an annoyed glare replacing her earlier concern.
"Why you little—"
Another smack landed, and I nearly yelped. I had fought wars, battled creatures of the dark, and faced death itself, yet nothing had prepared me for Gouya's discipline.
"Gouya, that hurts!" I yelled while making a futile attempt to free myself from her grasp.
After an intense battle of strengths, I finally got ready to see my mother. If I did regress, this might just be the start of everything. Maybe I could save the people I love, I need to become stronger and wiser.
The morning light barely filtered through the heavy curtains as I stepped out of my chamber, my mind still whirling with a thousand unanswered questions. Servants bowed as I passed, their faces unfamiliar yet recognizable all at once. In my past life, I had barely acknowledged them. Now, I scrutinized every detail, looking for inconsistencies, looking for signs that this was all just a cruel dream.
The grand hall loomed ahead, its gilded doors standing as imposing as ever. A reminder of the authority that resided within.
"Enter."
The moment I crossed the threshold, I saw her.
My mother.
Regal as ever, she sat upon her throne-like chair, dressed in dark robes that commanded respect and fear alike. Her piercing gaze settled on me, calculating, expectant. Even in my past life, she had always been an enigma—never truly warm, never truly distant. But now, seeing her alive after everything…
I almost faltered.
"You've been reckless," she said, her voice as sharp as ever. "Tell me, what future do you see for yourself?"
I swallowed hard, the weight of my regression pressing down on me. The last time I had stood here, I had spoken with arrogance, blinded by youthful pride and vengeance.
But now?
Now, I have lived through the consequences of my choices. I had died because of them.
I met her gaze, forcing my voice to remain steady. "One where I refuse to be careless."
Her expression remained unreadable. "Is that so? Thrain Namaroth the youngest womaniser chooses to take responsibility?" She lifted her hand, and a gush of wind pushed me back sharply, cutting my cheek.
I clenched my fists as blood gushed out. This was it—my second chance. A chance to rewrite my fate.
"I will prove it to you," I said, conviction hardening my voice.
A flicker of something passed through her eyes—curiosity, perhaps even approval. Then, she nodded.
"We shall see."
As I left the hall, my mind raced. This wasn't just a second chance at life. This was an opportunity to change everything. But even as I resolved to take control of my fate, a chilling thought settled in the back of my mind.
If I have regressed… What else has changed?
The past was no longer set in stone. And if that was the case, then the game had truly begun.